The gates were gone and as Isak reached the gap and looked down the driveway he reined in and stared.

Major Ortof-Greyl had started on down the road when he realised his party were no longer following. They had stopped before the open gateway. The old grey walls, set against the black background of a tall laurel hedge and the encroaching trees on each side, shone in the moonlight. Crawling trails of ivy reached up the cracked stone wall. Isak set off down the driveway towards the house, his companions following behind. In an open window on the upper floor he saw an owl, bright in the moonlight and as still as a statue until Isak was only twenty yards away. It suddenly stretched its wings out and hooted, breaking the evening silence. The owl's haunting call prompted a strange chattering sound to ring out around the grounds as voices echoed from the shadows.

Isak turned to look around, unsettled by the sudden stir. He drew Eolis half out of its scabbard. He couldn't feel any other presence nearby, not even what was making the noise – then a woman, swathed in a long dark cape that covered a long robe that looked black in the moonlight, stepped out from the trees. She called out in the Narkang tongue.

'They're welcoming you,' Mihn translated, unbidden.

'What are?' Isak felt immediately ashamed that he'd shown his blade, even half-drawn – it was traditional not to draw weapons on Silvernight, whatever the reason. Old soldiers swore that Arian would burn and corrode the surface of any blade exposed on this magical night. He looked down. Eolis shone all the more brightly, unearthly and dangerous.

'The gentry,' Mihn said softly after she had replied.

Isak looked more closely at the woman, who appeared to be no more than thirty. She had long dark hair creeping out from under her hood, and piercing, knowing eyes. She stood so still it was as if she

were of another place and time, set apart from worldly concerns. Isak could see a soft smile on her face.

'I thought they had no interest in men,' he said through Mihn.

'They don't, but they welcome you as a brother.'

'Have they told you that?' Isak asked.

When Mihn translated Isak's words, her only reply was a sniff of scorn.

'Are you the witch of Llehden?'

'I am a witch,' she said.

A figure stepped out beside her. It had the shape of a slender, lithe man, but little else was human. Its pale, hairless skin drawn tight over harsh features reminded Isak of the mercenary Aracnan. The figure – the gentry – had sharp, narrow eyes that looked completely black in this light – almost the complete opposite of Isak's own white eyes. The gentry looked poised either to attack or flee, but neither impulse showed on its impassive face. It wore a robe of stitched leaves, tied at the waist by a switch of what looked like willow. Its feet were bare, and the two largest toes were pushed in the black soil where it stood. By the time Isak had finished studying the gentry he realised there was a group of them; they had arrived as silently as wraiths. The first, their representative maybe, regarded Isak. He remembered the king's warning that the gentry had short tempers. If they truly were greeting him as a brother, then sitting atop Megenn and staring down at them was probably deeply insulting.

Isak pulled off the silk mask and slipped from his horse, dropping lightly to the ground.

The gentry shot him a grin, flashing long canines, and bowed low, though keeping his eyes on Isak all the while. Isak found himself bow-ing too, almost as low, which produced another predatory smile. Then it spoke in a barking chatter, firing sounds out through the night that were echoed out by the unseen gentry still among the trees. Without waiting for a response, the figure turned and darted away. All around, Isak heard sudden movement and glimpsed shapes flashing through the slivers of moonlight between the trees. He guessed at least fifty gentry had gathered.

The witch arched an eyebrow. From her expression, Isak was sure she'd never seen the gentry act like that. They say that they will escort you to the Ivy Rings, where soldiers wait. They call you a friend of the Land. That the soldiers still live is a gesture of respect for you.

His surprise at a voice appearing in his head must have shown as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. How? I am a witch. Your heart is not the only one with abilities.

You know of her?

I have heard her in the night. A song of fears; for you and for the Land.

She feels your pain as her own.

M.y injuries'!

The pain of your future, and of your soul. There is a storm on the horizon, one you feel in your blood, but it is wild and uncontrollable. So much is drawn to your light that you will make your own future only if you can control that storm. Consider your choices well, for they will impact on the whole Land as much as her. What is your part in this?

I care nothing for the plans of Gods or the pride of men. I am a witch of Llehden, bound to the Land and bound to protect its balance. Those who need help will find it in me; those who need haven will find it here. That is the bond I gave for the powers I bear. Go now. Events are waiting upon you. When my help is needed, it will be given. When it's needed?

You are not here to see me; now is not the time for that. All I know is that a time will come when;you will need a light in dark places. Then, young dragon, you will need my help.

And you'll give it so freely? It doesn't sound like;you even know what you're committing to. Isak tried hard not to sound insulting in his

head.

No one can see the future exactly. Those who see furthest and with the greatest clarity are prophets, and that is the source of their madness. I can feel an echo of the future, no more. Until that time when you need a light in dark places, I do not need to understand more.

And what am I supposed to do until then? Even in his head he sounded petulant; he tried to control the anger he always felt when things were beyond his control. Now was not the time to lose his temper, particularly not with someone who might save his life in some way.

Control the storm, find a way to channel its power and chain it. I can feel the Land inside you, entwined with magic, and struggling to find its own balance. The price of my power is to use it when others have need of it; it may be that the price of your power will be the need of the entire Land.

But-

No more. You have ^our future to meet now.

My future?

The witch turned and walked softly away until she was swallowed up by the silver-tinged darkness. When at last she replied, it was soft and distant, but he could feel a fond humour in the words. Our future always lies ahead of us, but sometimes it stops and turns around to look us in the face. All things have their time. Remember that, young dragon.

'So what happened back there?' Vesna asked quietly.

Isak rode on unheeding, his eyes vague, his cloak hood hiding his face from Arian's light, pondering the strange meeting. The ranger Jeil trotted ahead, following the gentry who were now leading the way. Megenn, unguided by Isak, trailed after the others at his own pace.

Isak could see nothing but the image of the witch. It was hard not to trust her, but Isak was beginning to doubt altruism in anyone. Was she another player, entering the game? If so, to what end? She had no kingdom to protect, no border to expand – did she have a greater goal than that?

The witch did not offer to guide them herself; Silvernight itself was a time for human festivities, when witches and the spirits of the night kept quiet. The Finntrail would leave even the weariest of travellers alone, the Coldhand folk would ignore an open barn door, and witches by tradition stayed at home. She had gone outside her house only to speak to the gentry, and nothing but an urgent plea for help would draw her beyond the boundary wall before dawn.